Sun Rises, Sun Sets
by Temporary Infatuation
Summary: At the end of the day, and at the beginning,the boys have each other. Short one-shots about waking and falling asleep with the boys. Wincest in later chaps
1. Wee chesters, Teen chesters

Hope you like it. It shows what happens between demon hunts and battling the forces of darkness.  
Much fluff, and some not so much  
Disclaimer :I SOOO want to own the boys, but unfortunately Kripke says its not legal. Something about 'human bondage'.

Also, in later chapters there will be wincest...if i can get up the guts to write it. just deal, okay, i dont like flamers...

* * *

Dean remembered waking up the day after Samuel was brought home from the hospital. He had done what he had always done; woken up and scrambled down the stairs to the kitchen, his feet making little-boy thuds against the wood on the stairs. On most mornings, Mommy and Daddy were at the table already, but this morning it was only Mommy, and she was standing at the counter, cooking.

"Mommy, where's…" She shushed him gently.

"Deano, you have to be quiet, okay? Sammy's sleeping." She looked up towards the stairs.

It was the first time Dean had ever heard anyone call Samuel 'Sammy,' and he said it twice, trying so hard to get it just right. His father came in just then, and Dean turned and put a finger over his mouth.

"Shhhhhh. Sammy's asleep." He said, in his almost loud whisper, and his Dad chuckled.

After everything, Dean still called Sam 'Sammy,' because that's who he was to him…beautiful, fragile Baby Sammy.

--

When Sam was about six years old, and Dean was ten, Dad had left them alone for the first time. Dean had decided that since their father wasn't there he would cook breakfast. There was a very rare package of Bacon in the freezer, and Dean remembered watching his Dad cook bacon for them a half dozen times.

After about an hour the strips had been reduced to nothing but black, charred chunks of wood pulp. But Sammy had shrugged and ate almost the whole pan, anyways, and grinned afterwards.

"See, Dean? Still good."

--

Sam was at the table, his hand playing idly with the edge of the placemat. Their father had been gone for three days, and Sam was getting sick of being cooped up in a tiny, cruddy motel room. The car lights streamed through the window, catching on the salt and making the lines look like strips of diamond. Dean was at the stove, making them instant macaroni and cheese. Sam didn't like this new Dean. Sam was eleven and a half, just as grown up as Dean was, but Dean didn't seem to want to hang around him anymore. He wanted to go out with _girls._ And he argued with Sam, he always took Dad's side, even on the little things. They had argued today, when Sam said that other kids didn't have to stay in a motel room alone.

"The kids at school say things about Dad." Dean froze, his hand stopped stirring. "They say he's a nobody. They say that he's a drunk, and if we're lucky, he'll leave us here and child services will come get us." Sam had added on that last part, almost unintentionally.

"They don't know anything, Sam. And if they're lucky, they never will." Dean went back to stirring, watching the yellow mush cake to the edges of the pan.

"Yeah, well I think they're right." Sam had never said anything directly against their Dad before, and Dean turned away from the stove, jaw clenched and his hands balled up.

"That's not true, Sammy, and you know it."

"It is to!" Sam yelled. "He just goes off and leaves us all the time, and when he does come back it's just to make us move somewhere else. He thinks just because Mom died we don't need him either." _WHAP._ Dean had been as fast as lightening, his palm lashing out against the side of Sam's face, toppling his chair over onto the linoleum. Dean seemed as shocked as Sam, and he moved to help him to his feet. Sam swatted his arm away.

"Sammy, I…"

"Don't call me that! You don't get to call me that."

Later, when midnight was approaching, Dean had gone to Sam's side of the room and tried to talk to him.

"Dad's _not _here as much as he should be, I know. But…he's helping someone who needs it. He's a hero."

"_We _need his help."

"Sammy, come on." There was silence for a moment.

"It's Sam." And then Sam turned his back on Dean, facing the wall and leaving his brother behind him.


	2. Blissfully Broken

Second chap...weeee  
Okay, here's the deal...Im not really sure about writing this, so if i dont hear any reviews, Im probably just gonna stop, cause...just cause. Thing is, this is the first thing like this ive written, so be gentle...

WARNING: wincest...one of the reasons I'm unsure of this whole thing...

* * *

Sam was just waking up when Dean sauntered in, all swagger and snark. He closed the door and turned, surprised to see Sam straightening up the covers of the bed they shared. He glared at Dean, a newly acquired skill. _Brood, brood, brood._ It was all Sam did lately - in the last few months, Sam's little boy awkwardness has dissipated, replaced by scrawny, lanky teen muscles and the strange, masculine grace that followed the Winchester's. He was now refusing haircuts, and his hair hung in a curtain around his face.

"Where have you been?" Dean wasn't the only one with snark.

"It's called food. You should try it, it's what the human race eat." It was only a tease, a smile filtered towards Dean eyes and seemed to settle there permanently.

"So you weren't across the hall, with Ms. OhI'mOnVacation? Cause the Impala hasn't moved all morning." Sam was now slamming things out of his bag onto the dresser, his hair creating a halo around his head in the dull morning light filtering in through the dirty windows, illuminating the room in a false cheery glow. Sometimes Dean would sit and watch his brother clean the motel room (an annoying habit, but not one that seemed to be going away) and it didn't take much to realize that his brother creates more light than the sun ever would in Dean's life.

"Dean!" Sam's voice caught him off guard.  
"Yeah, I was actually, Sam." He grinned. "I didn't want to brag, but I can be quite popular." A smile spread his features in a way that can only be called wicked.

Sam was silent for few moments as he refolded his clothes and replaced them in the bag. Dean tossed his jacket down and collapsed onto the crease less bed, enjoying the light feeling in his chest. Sam dropped his bag near the bed and started rearranging the stuff on the nightstand, breath coming in little huffs. Dean sat up and leaned toward him.

"Aww, Sammy. Are you jealous?" Sam huffed  
"Why would I ever be jealous of her?" The tension stiffened and Dean's smile disappeared.  
"Sam, I meant jealous of me." Sam's hand stilled and then he coughed, breaking the silence.  
"What else would I have meant! Huh?" The air heated around him. "I'm going to go try to be human, you know, blend in!" The door reverberated as Sam slammed it shut, and Dean was left sitting there, his head in his hands.

* * *

Dean stared at the dark ceiling, his vision pasting little black and white dots across the cracked plaster. He had awoken an hour before without Sam's familiar breathing by his side, and couldn't go back to sleep without knowing that Sam was safe. He was tempted to get up and search for him, but this wasn't a new occurrence; for the last few weeks Sam had been disappearing in the middle of the night. For the first few nights Dean has panicked, his blood rushing to his heart and beating him forward until he found Sam asleep in their Dad's truck bed, or in the backseat of the impala, or even in another motel room he had broken into. Dean didn't bother looking anymore. He lied there in the much too cold bed until the dim creeping of dawn started to reflect against the glass panes of the window. His father had left, telling Dean he wouldn't be back for a while and whispering to keep Sam safe. He didn't ask where Sam was, and Dean wondered if he had even noticed that he wasn't there, or maybe he had been noticing Sam's late night disappearances as well. Both seemed unlikely. Finally Dean roused himself and grabbed his jeans, heading out on foot until he spotted Sam in a swing, long legs splayed in frount of him as he scuffed against the dirt.

"Sam? Sam!" Dean walked into his line of vision and kneeled down. "Look, man, I wasn't going to ask, but this has got to stop. Why do you keep wondering off like this?" Sam was silent, studying his sneakers. "Sammy!" Dean raised one hand to Sam's face and Sam swatted it away. "Answer me damn it!"

"Fuck you!" The words ripped through Sam's throat, clawed their way out and spliced his tounge. "What the hell gives you the right to care about me."  
"I do care about you. I just want to know why you do this so I can help." Sam's face crumpled at the words.  
"I just...it's hard to be around you sometimes, Dean. It's...Dean..." The last word was almost a sob. and Dean raised his hand to Sam's jaw again, and Sam didn't swat it away. He shifted out of his crouch so he was on his knees, almost level with Sam, and he wondered how Sam had grown up so much on him so fast. Now sixteen, his frame countered Dean's, his wide shoulders jutting farther than Dean's and he was already a good half-inch taller.

"What are you talking about, Sammy?" Sam looked up at him, and it happened so fast Dean almost missed it. Sam's lips brushed his, feather light, almost nothing but a breath of air against Dean's mouth. Then Sam shoved him away hard, his long legs unfolding and he was moving away from Dean, leaving Dean in the dust before a swaying swing.

--

Dean went back to the motel, unlocking the door and collapsing onto the bed, barely shrugging off his jacket and kicking off his shoes before he fell onto the pillows softly. The dawn was now well upon them, no longer a glimmer, and it sent scattering light across the room - he was not going to sleep. He listened intently untill he heard Sam's key in the door, then turned towards the wall. Sam didn't say anything, but slowly made his way to the bed and sat barely on the edge, almost not there at all. Dean turned a little bit.

"Dad's not here, he's on his way to Maine. You can sleep in his bed, if you want." His heart caught in his throat as he said the words.  
"I know." Sam said, and continued taking off his shoes and jacket. Dean sat up behind him, fisted a hand into his hair and dragged him backwards, his mouth rough against Sam's.  
"So stupid. So fucking stupid. You know that?" His lips were greedy against Sam's, taking all he could from him then delving in deeper to give it back. "So fucking stupid." And it was bliss.

* * *


	3. The Calms and the Storms

Okay, chap 3.  
Angst, schmoop, and a little slash...  
I'm sort of just going with this one, and seeing what comes out...wish me luck, and please review.

Warning:wincest.

* * *

There's a little diner that opens at two AM next to the Kwik E Mart where Dean and Sam stop for coffee. The sun is peeking through streaked windows over empty square tables, and Dean convinces Sam to step into the tiny confines of a booth across from him, their knees resting against each other under a table. Sam orders water and Dean smirks from under his sun glasses and orders Key Lime Pie. He asks for two scoops of whip cream, like always, and Sam wonders why he never noticed that before. He knows its because he always reaches over and steals a scoop while dean is immersed in all his own sweet goodness. They both sip from their dome topped cups, and Sam leans back, feeling the vinyl creak under him, deciding that this time he won't go near that whipped cream. Dean watches him expectedly for a moment then drops his fork, metal on metal clatter ringing through the empty tables. Sam watches, eyes wide, as Dean lifts the whip cream with his bare hand and licks off, feeling his pulse race a little. They are both silent as Dean takes the other half off and brandishes toward Sam, who can't help himself; his hand shoots across the table and latches onto Dean's wrist, his mouth stealing the treat, tasting sugar and an underlying taste of Dean's skin. Dean watches as Sam stays there for a moment, eyes closed and little hollows forming in his cheeks as his teeth skim across Dean's flesh, making his breath hitch. Finally Sam pulls away and looks up at Dean, who is staring at him, wide-eyed, his face flushed. His words are barely spoken, rough and low.

"God damn, Sam." And Sam laughs, because it seems like the right thing to do.

* * *

Sometimes when they're like this, Dean pressed against Sam in the shadow of night, his breath fluttering across Sam's neck, Sam wonders if this is really happening, or if he will wake up in the morning and have Dean push him away. Sometimes when he thinks about that, his throat closes up and his eyes burn, his heart feeling like it swells against his chest, breaking his bones into little fatal shards that sting under his skin like bees. But then he feels Dean's arm tighten in his sleep, pulling Sam closer to him so he can feel Dean's heart moving through the layers of linen, and Dean would groan deep in his throat and press his face closer to the nape of Sam's neck, and Sam's body seems to restich itself, and Dean never pushes him away.

* * *

For months Sam had been casting him sly smiles, for months they had been steal quick, feverish touches and harsh kisses when nobody was looking. Now, every time Dean looked at Sam he felt his breath leave him, escape and run rampant as his lungs collapsed in on him. The back of his hands were skinned raw from yesterday morning, when Sam had slammed him against the side of the motel and held his hands over his head as his tongue dove deep into him. That was far as they had gotten, passionate, innocent touches after hunts or before, when Sam was scared shitless and needing to feel Dean beneath his fingertips, blood boiling. But there were other times, too. Like now, when the sun isn't coming through the morning rainclouds, and the rain is mixing with thin dew on the back window of the impala, and Sam is just now waking, dropping a soft kiss to Dean's lips before he wipes the sleep from his eye and all Dean can think about is how he wishes Sam would always and never be so sweet to him.

* * *

The door closes behind them and Sam purposefully isn't looking at Dean. He's up to his elbows in blood, and Dean wants to get it off of him as soon as possible, as though it could taint his Sammy. The blood isn't theirs, but the sight of it still sickens Dean.  
"Sammy." Sam slams the bag down and enters the bathroom, coming back clean and beautiful again, starts angrily unlacing his shoes, throwing off his jacket and shooting Dean an angry look. "Sam, I just..." His voice broke a little. "I just need to keep you safe. Don't you get that? I can't lose you." Sam must understand, because his glare shifts and he doesn't look as angry anymore, just sad and frustrated.

"Yeah, Dean, I do get that. I get that because that's exactly how a feel about you. You can't keep putting your ass in jeopardy all the time. You could've gotten hurt. And _I_ can't lose _you_, either." The hunt had been a disaster, and everything Sam cared about had almost been pulverized and tossed in the dirt, but they had gotten lucky. Now the relief was gone and all that was left was pure fear for what would happen on their next hunt, When their father wasn't there to save their asses. Their father, who had already left them for another case.  
Dean sighed and kicked off his shoes and sat behind Sam on the bed, hands on Sam's shoulders, working small circles into the muscles until Sam leaned back into him, his anger long gone.

"You aren't going to lose me. Ever." Dean kissed behind Sam's jaw, and layed his forehead on Sam's shoulder.

"How can you know that?" Sam turned in his grasp, looking him in the eye.

"Because I love you too much to leave you here alone. I promise." Sam looked down and knew Dean meant every word, because it wasn't like him to ever say something he didn't. He looked back up and kissed Dean, pressing him back onto the mattress.

"Sammy..." Sam covered the word again, and Dean was silent.

"I know what I want, Dean. I love you so damn much." Their mouths met again and Dean felt Sam moan into him, his hands sliding beneath Dean's shirt and outlining his ribs, pulling away to lift the thin material up and off, letting Dean help him with his own shirt before he pressed back, his hands pulling Dean close to enjoy the feel of their chest pressed together. They stayed like that for a while before Dean's hands found their way to Sam's waist band, tugging and trying not to rush, but then Sam got the hint, rising and stripping down before pulling the denim away from Dean, discarding the jeans and returning to Dean, hands shaking at the feel of flesh on flesh as he slid between Dean's legs, his hands mapping out ever line of muscles and every long healed scar. For a while things were blurry as Dean took Sam's hand into his mouth before guiding it down between them, as Dean moaned and pressed against him, wincing a little then breathing his name. Then everything was clear as he pulled away and felt Dean wrap his legs around him, high on his ribcage as he manhandled his hips down on the bed, feeling them roll as he pressed in, leaning in almost impossibly to steal a kiss as Dean grimaced before Dean was rocking against him, shocked sounds coming from him. Dean winced again as Sam moved, feeling him stretch around him.

"God, Sammy." The sound made Sam shiver and move a little faster as Dean ran his hands over Sam's arms beside him. Sam was moaning Dean's name now, hardly conscious of it, and Dean's heels pressed into his back. Dean arched a little, and Sam reached around with one hand to press into the small of his back, now moving fast, sweat running in little rivulets down his chest.

Dean gasped as Sam's moved his hand, reaching down and wrapping around him, moving in perfect time with every short thrust until he spilled across that hand, feeling Sam shudder above him and grit his teeth before warmth filled him and Sam collapsed above him, mouth finding his collar bone and trailing his jaws as he pulled way from Dean and turned on his side, whispering to Dean over and over again, listening to the answer.

"Promise me again. Promise me again."

* * *

Sam and their Dad were screaming at each other, and Dean tried to tune it out, but then Sam was crashing into their room, yanking out drawers that were mostly empty and dumping them into the duffel bag.

"Sammy?" Sam didn't stop moving or even acknowledge Dean had said something, but was talking, low and fast.

"I can't stay here anymore, Dean. I can't be in the same fucking house as him. He should be proud of me, but he's not. He's just angry because he's always fucking angry. And I'm sick of it. I am so fucking _sick of it._" His breath was coming out in shudders as he ziped the bag and tore back out, Dean on his heels.

"Just leave!" It was thier father that was screaming from the kitchen doorway. "Don't follow him, Dean!"

But Dean ignored that, jogging after Sam into the night.

"Sammy!" He cried, and Sam dropped his bag and turned, grabbing Dean and sealing their mouths together as Dean half whimpered against him. The moon cast a strange shadow against Sam's face as his lips skated across Dean's cheekbones, words flooding both of their minds, words that shouldn't be said but they were coming from Sam's mouth anyway.  
Words like 'I love you.'  
Words like 'Forgive me.'  
Words like 'Come with me.'

Sam pressed thier foreheads together in the dark, his breath skating against Dean's lips as he whispered.

"I love you. I'm not leaving you, I could never leave you. Please...oh God please." Tears ran down his face as Dean shook his head. "Then ask me to stay. Ask me to say, and I can't say no, I know I couldn't. Please."

Dean shoved him away. "I shouldn't have to ask, Sam." And left Sam in the dark, his bag at his side.

It was a long time before he saw his little brother again.

* * *

So there you go, my very first slash part. Hope you liked it. I'm really unsure of it. Please review...the sooner you do, the sooner I write next chap!


	4. Perfectly Wrong

Okay, chapter four. Im not sure how far Im taking this, so we'll all just have to wait and see...

Warning: Wincest, yet again.

* * *

Sam had decided not to move into a dorm, scared of the prying eyes when they glanced at his plain duffel bag, rich kids giggling behind thier hands over his torn jeans and flannel shirts. He had rented out a room near campus with the roll of bills he had saved up, which was dwindling quickly now.

He turned in the covers and clutched at the pillow, his chest seizing. The room was empty. The bed was empty. Nothing was familiar. Sam had gone eighteen years complaining about not having a home, only to realize now that he had a home, and he had pushed it away. He eyed his duffel bag from across the room, the moonlight catching the silver clasp on the strap and sending little slivers of reflected moonlight onto the dirty carpet. He finally threw the blankets off, padding barefoot over to the dresser and spilling out everything he owned onto cheap plywood, sifting through it until he found his prize; a ragged Zeppelin teeshirt wrapped around a tiny, woven leather bracelet. He slipped on Dean's shirt, and it clung to his shoulders and ribcage, even though it had always been loose on Dean, and took the bracelet back to bed, his thumb running over the grooves idly until the feel lulled him to sleep.

* * *

Sam was working at a bar down the road from Stanford, using all his good looks to take tips from shy young girls and hustling pool when rent got too steep. He would never tell Dean any of this, not in a million years, but he did what he had to to get along. Twice tonight he had heard the low rumble of a classic car and felt his heart jump in his chest, but ignored it.

Two years, two years of watching that barroom door swing open, hoping every time he would spy Ray Ban wraparounds, a dirty brown leather jacket, military haircut, straight down the sides. It didn't happen - Dean wasn't coming to join him.

He told himself that a million times, but he still wasn't surprised when he walked down the sidewalk, hands in his pocket and head down under the street lights only to look and see the most familiar shadow on this world. His brother was hunched on the front stoop of a little townhouse Sam had rented only months before, when the days were getting chilly and the leaves were starting to rot in the parking lot.

"Sammy." One word, and Sam was pulling Dean up to full height, wrapping him in arms of steel. Tears streamed down his face as he clutched Dean closer. "Sam." Dean pulled back and looked at him.

"You have to know. When you asked...what you asked. I didn't do it because I wanted you to be happy. I wanted you to know I would've done anything for you to stay, but I...I didn't want to hold you back. I..." Dean didn't know what he was saying. He had planned to come here, be all cool, like it was no big deal. '_I was in the neighborhood' _He wanted to stay, but he couldn't.

"Sam." Sam's mouth covered his, briefly, one of his brother's big hands coming up to card into his hair.

"Doesn't matter. None of it matters. I've missed..." Dean was pushing Sam backwards. He hadn't planned on doing this, he had come here to let Sam know that he didn't need this, that they were okay. But now Sam was opening up beneath him, hands hooking into his belt loops and grinding their hips together as thier mouths met, a tangle of tounges, and God how had Dean gone without this for a second? Sam turning from him to unlock the door was too long to go without that mouth, and he was devouring Sam before the door shut behind them, sliding his hands under Sam's jacket and tearing at the buttons on his shirt, Sam's skin hot beneath his hands, Sam muttering against his lips as his hands found the buttons on his jeans, snapping the teeth of the zipper off in the rush to just _remember_.

It was different than before. It was different because he knew what it was like to be away from Sam. It was different because he was so _mad_, so utterly pissed off and so utterly ecstatic to feel Sam groan deep in his chest like that, so deep Dean could feel it through his skin. Every pulse of Sam beneath his hands made Dean die inside, and every soft breath of his name brought him back to life as he pushed into Sam, harder than he meant to, but damn he didn't care; he wanted to mark Sam as his for all the world to see. Sam opened his mouth in a silent scream, his hand finding the sheets and tearing them in his claws, his knees bruising Dean's ribcage with every rock of his brothers hips. He was loud now, much louder than he ever used to be, and his own name was being whispered through clenched teeth. He felt Dean's rhythm falter above him and hurried to catch up, letting the waves wash over him as he spilled across his chest, his skin slick with sweat. Dean groaned and followed him over, ever muscle in his body shaking tortuously as he pulled off of Sam, turning him on his side and curving in behind him, his arm wrapping protectively over Sam's chest.

"Sammy?" He followed the sound with a kiss, tounge finding and marking a scar below Sam's shoulder blade.

"Mmm?" His breath caught in his throat.

"Are you? Happy here, I mean." He waited, and thought Sam had gone to sleep, but then Sam nodded.

"Yeah. I think so." _Now that you're here. _He didn't say that part. He slipped into sleep and didn't feel Dean's tears slide down his back.

When he woke up that morning Dean was long gone, the sheets a tangled mess, and he smelled of sweat and sex. He smelled of Dean's cologne and Old Spice. He skipped class and called in sick at work, forcing himself into the shower to clean himself off. The hot water didn't calm him, and before the sun rose he was on his knees, huge shudders coming through him as he screamed at the shower wall.

"You were supposed to stay, you selfish bastard! You promised me! You fucking promised me!" But no one could hear him, and no one ever would.

* * *

The bar was almost empty and Sam stared at the clock, barely awake as he stacked the chairs on the scarred tables, the old peanut and Heineken smell making him nausious.

" 'Scuse me? Is there anybody else here.? Tall, redhead, probably hammered?" He looked up and felt the stool slip from his fingers, diving down to catch it last minute.

"You okay?" She flashed another smile and Sam realized he didn't know if he could comprehend English anymore. He turned and almost knocked over the tray of glasses that were setting on the wet bar, getting his hold and feeling quite proud of himself for not breaking anything. Yet.

"I'm fine. There's nothing else here. No one, I mean, no one else here. I mean with me. She's not here." He wasn't used to being flustered, but she took it pretty well, giggling.

"Do you work here?"

"Yeah. I just turned 21 a few months ago, so..." He looked back up at her and realized her eyes weren't the color he thought they were. That was a very good and a very bad thing.

"So you're here all the time?"

"Uh...yeah. I go to Stanford." _Way to go, jackass, brag._

"Me too." their eyes held for a moment and then she shrugged, her hair falling from behind her ear and cascading in beautiful gold curls against her red tee.

"Well, I guess she isn't here. Thanks for the help."

"Yeah, you too." _Shut up, dipshit._

"Oh, by the way, my names Jessica."

"Sam."

He was going to love this girl.

* * *

Mmmkay, there we go, we are past all the preseries stuff...yay, i guess. I still have a while to go, but i could probably end it here, im not sure yet...

I might revisit the Sam/Jessica relationship in my next chap, i have some pretty decent passages in my head...we'll see, i might not get to the series until chap 6. Wow, Chap 6...

I am taking this way to far...but things just piled up in my brain...

Review!Review!Review!


	5. Blood Pressure

Sam was happy in his warm cocoon, Jessica's fingertips trailing across his back. The street lamp outside illuminated her dresser, and he could see her in the mirror, propped on her elbow, biting her lip. He couldn't see her eyes, and he was glad.

"Sam?"

"Mmm?" Her hand stopped and he felt his heart jump as she traced the curved raised scar on his shoulder, freezing.

"How did you get this?" Sam clenched his fist in the pillow. He had never lied to her, not once, always managing to distract her when she asked about his past, his family, his parents. Now he was at a dead end, and already he could hear the truth in his head .

_Poltergeist in Mississippi didn't like company. Threw a chair at me. _"I fell through the railing on our back porch. " Her hand moved to the curve of his waist, and he wondered if she bought it when she spoke again.

" And this one?" A deep gashing one about three inches wide on his ribcage

_Vengeful spirit in Oregon. Had a strange infatuation with railroad spikes - introduced me to a friend._ "I feel out of the bed of a moving truck." He should have given it some thought, made it believable, but he almost wanted to make it obvious he was lying. They had only been dating a few months, but he was already aware that eventually he would have to tell her about his mom, and he couldn't lie about something like his mother's death.

He could see her brow furrow in the glass and fought the urge to tell her everything. She touched a tiny one on his hairline, and before she even asked he found his chest swell - he wouldn't forget that one.

Him and Dean had gotten home from a hunt and were alone for the first time in almost a month. They had been climbing all over each other, clothing shedding off their bodies like water. Sam had pulled Dean closer to him, tripped over his own jeans on the floor, fell out of Dean's grasp and nearly brained himself on the corner of the motel bed. Dean had looked at the blood gushing from Sam's head, Sam's look of complete bewilderment, and said with complete sincerity 'I'm guessing this takes sex off the table.' Sam had laughed so hard he almost fell back down.

"What about this one?" Sam couldn't lie about that, not something like that, not entirely - perhaps it was morbid that Sam held his and Dean's love life on the same plane as his mother's death, but it was as ludicrous to lie about his time with Dean as it would be to tell someone his mother had left them - it was sick to do it.

"Sam?" Her voice again, soft, accompanied by her hand soft on his bicep. His whole body tensed as he realized what she was thinking...he had heard a billion times when teachers, bus drivers, guidance counselors noticed bruises on him, but he had never expected to address it with Jessica. His brain immediately jumped back to his family, armed and ready.

"Me and my brother were...wrestling, and I tripped." Silence. Uncomfortable silence.

"You got hurt alot."

"I was a clumsy kid!" He gritted his teeth.

"Sam...if you tell me something, I promise it will stay between us. I promise." Sam righted himself, tossing away Jessica's comforter and searching in the dark for his boxers and jeans.

"There's nothing to tell!" He moved quickly around the room, eyes scanning for his flannel shirt.

"Sam, I just...when you talk about your brother, whenever you mention him, you get kind of detached...I just thought..."

"I know what you thought, Jessica! And you were wrong! Dean has protected me my whole life!" Sam ran a hand through his hair, and throwing on his undershirt and button up.

"Dean protected you?" Her voice softened. "From who? Your father?" Sam's hand found a vase sitting on Jessica's desk and threw it across the room, angered with the sound of it breaking.

"Dammit, Jessica! Neither of them ever touched me!" She was covering her mouth, her eyes wide and frightened. Sam took a breath. "I need some air." He walked into the night, alone.

That was the last time he ever yelled at Jessica, and he vowed to never, ever do it again.

* * *

Heat. Lot's of it. That's what Sam remembers most of the worst night of his life. Jessica's blood hadn't been cold like death, but warm, as though she was still living and breathing beneath his hands. Then the fire, searing the vision of her body into his brain like a tattoo. Dean's grasp had even been warm, his breath on Sam's face hot and smelling slightly of whiskey when he told Sam they had to get out of there.

Fire turned the sky a black crimson, reflecting beautifully on the hood of the impala. Sam had slept once, twice, three times in the leather seat at Dean's side, waking up crying and clutching blindly for the door handle. He would silently cry until the weight of everything fell on him and lulled him back to sleep.

Something in him screamed at Dean, angry and upset. If Dean hadn't taken him away, hadn't hauled him back into this, the Yellow Eyed Demon never would have gotten to Jessica. He got angrier and angrier, and as dawn broke and Dean slipped on his sunglasses, Sam decided that Dean had done this, true, but Dean would help set it right. His brother was a tool, and a very well honed one - if he couldn't help him avenge Jessica, no one would. And after, nothing was tying Sam to him.

Nothing at all.

* * *

Mmkay, some Dean hate for ya...I know, I despise it, too, Dean is amazing. But it is necessary. This one is so short, but the next one is going to be longer...I've already written most of it in my head.

Reviews ALWAYS welcome.

* * *


	6. Blurred Nightmares

Mmkay, got a little longer than i would have liked to take to start getting this written, but here I am.

Wish me luck

Warning: Mentions of wincest (not much), spoilers for Asylum.

* * *

Sam was different. Dean could feel it in his gut, even before all this. The way Sam slammed every door, every cabinet, every cup in some crappy diner. How sometimes when they were having a normal conversation Sam's hand would snake to the side of the table, grip the metal lining so hard his knuckles would turn death-white, how he would clench his jaw and grind his teeth when Dean talked to him, or laughed, or even glanced at him, half-smile masking his features grotesquely.

Dean just wanted to make things okay.

Sam wouldn't let Dean touch him anymore, and not just like they used to. Dean couldn't lay his hand on Sam's shoulder, couldn't help him to his feet, couldn't shake him awake or help clean his wounds.

Sam never pushed him away, exactly, never shuddered from his touch, but Dean could feel it under his skin. He could feel Sam's flesh crawl when he checked him over for breaks after a hunt gone wrong.

But Sam had no problem touching Dean, there was no ill ease there - they were still brothers in that sense. That's what Dean had thought, had been so very sure of, but hearing those words come from Sam's mouth had been like scorpion venom; it burned his veins and scarred his skin.

Sam was running his fingertips over Dean's chest, teeth clenched as he pressed in on the black bruises there, searching for a break or a fracture, anything they would need to tend to. The comforter was itchy beneath Dean's bare back, but he didn't squirm as Sam pushed a dark mustard yellow spot, fighting the urge to wince. Sam wasn't looking at Dean in that shockingly obvious way, his gaze hard set on the risefall motions of Dean's chest.

"Does that hurt?" Dean shook his head, a wordless answer that made Sam turn his way. Sam held Dean's glass gaze for a few seconds, then pulled away his hand. Finally Dean talked.

"Did you mean it?" Silence filled the room.

"Did you mean it!?" His voice raised and his hand came up and thumped onto the mattress. He was screaming now, and Sam fell backwards off his knees, his back hitting the frame of the other twin bed. He looked at Dean, his eyes focusing briefly on the wide arcs that painted his face from the street lamp, making his features seem lost and frightened. Or maybe that wasn't because of the light. For the first time in Sam's life, Dean cried in front of him, tiny rivulets sliding down his face.

Dean sat up and rebuttoned his shirt before turning on his side, his back to Sam, tugging at the covers until they enveloped him. When his voice came it was a broken form of his usually strong drawl.

"I just want things back the way they were. I just want to be your brother again."

Sam left him there, bundled like a child, crying like a child, breaking like only a man can.

* * *

When they drove, it seemed like the world couldn't touch them, wasn't there, didn't exist. The trees turned to brown and green blurs, like a picture that had been wiped down when it was still wet. When they stopped somewhere, talked to people, it was just a journey to that road, that nowhere that stretched horizon to horizon. No one else lived in this world; pit stops were only breaks from reality, little scenarios from idle minds. The road was what they would always come back to. Sam knew this from deep inside himself, the same way he knew that Jess would die on his fate, that he would be shackled to his brother to the end, the same way he knew Dean's aftershave was actually Dad's and that their mother loved tulips - it was something you can't possibly know.

Sam was still surprised to wake up in motion, moving at eighty miles an hour. Van Halen was a buzz in the distance and Sam moved to turn the knob off, hand reaching for the sun visor to shield himself from those bright morning rays. Dean's hand followed his, clicking it back on.

Off.

On.

Off.

On.

"Touch my radio again I will break that wrist, boy." Sam scowled and reached, surprised when Dean's hand wrapped around his own, the car coming to a halt in the middle of the road. Dean tore off his sunglasses and stared Sam down.

"I'm sick off your damn music!" Sam spat, trying to wrench his hand back.

"I'm sick of a lot of things. I'm sick of all your little control trips. I'm sick of my hotel room smelling like lemon air freshener, dealing with picking up your damn cream containers in every diner we stop in. I'm sick of your screams in the middle of your night and your snooty remarks that nothing is wrong with you. I'm sick of you thinking that just because Jess is gone you aren't allowed to love anybody. This is my home, not yours, Samuel. Stop acting like you live with me."

_Samuel._ Sam pulled his hand back and turned away from Dean. He hadn't thought that he would've ever been broken by that name again.

* * *

Dean comes in late now, smelling of beer and whiskey and tequila. The room is black and Sam's chest hurts, and he feels lines of fire run down onto his face. His eyes are burning coals when Dean's key turns in the lock finally. He tries to lie real still, but it doesn't fool Dean, drunk or not. He hears Dean topple onto his own bed holds his breath. Dean turns over once. Twice. He sighs softly and then speaks, so quiet Sam can ignore him if he wants to. He almost does, but then feels sick that he would try to cover up this grief.

"It's nothing you would understand, Dean. You don't know." Dean doesn't say anything, but Sam knows that he thinks Sam is just being stubborn. He can't pretend that hes okay, not when its about this.

"I loved Jess. You don't know what it's like to love someone and have them torn away from. You don't know what it's like to love someone."

Dean doesn't move, fights the urge to come over there and give three seconds to show Sam how much he can love someone.

"I know exactly what that's like." Dean is staring at the window past Sam, the moonlight reflecting of of his glassy eyes. If he was a little more drunk, he would've said more, but now he feels choked.

Sam almost wants to climb into that bed with Dean and wrap his arms around him. The urge is so deep in his bones he has to clench the pillow.

He can't tell Dean. He can't tell Dean that the only reason he can't stand those soft, brotherly touches is because he can feel everything behind them. And it doesn't make him as sick anymore. It almost makes him warm.

* * *

Nightmares are just part of life - Sam used to have them when they were little. He didn't speak about what happened in them, but Dean would hear him scream. Dean had nightmares too; his brother, alone in a room, flesh peeled back from bone leaving thick puddles of blood on a grimy cement floor. Before Sam left, he would wake up with nightmares and Dean would pull him closer, rub his back until the tremors left him and he fell back into sleep. He would whisper things in Sam's her, kiss his forehead, and later, behind his jaw.

Now he watched from a distance, and sometimes he would pull Sam in his arms for a few minutes. Shrug Sam off when he woke up, looked at him like this was a betrayal. Now Sam shuddered, his body shaking and his hand tightening convulsively on the edge of the seat in his sleep, his long legs cramped into his side of the back seat, tucked at awkward, broken angles. Dean's brow furrowed and he reached across the seat to brush Sam's hair out of his eyes, waiting until Sam was still again to slide across the seat and pull Sam to his chest.

Sam sighed low in this throat, then he grabbed at Dean's knee, flash-awake. He pushed Dean off of him, hitting the door handle.

"Damn it Sammy! I'm not trying to hit on you. I'm not copping a feel. I'm trying to be your damn brother." Sam grunted at him , then looked at Dean, eyes sleep heavy. He looked at Dean's eyes, deep and genuine, a rare and beautiful sight to see. He slid back down until he could hear Dean's heart beat, thunder in his ears. Dean's arms tucked around him as he slid down further on the seat, and Sam sighed again, like he was content.

After that, the nightmares didn't come back as much.

* * *

Okay, this chapter was just...bad. I know that, and I'm sorry. I think the next chap will be my last in this series, then I'm probably going to start up an actual story. I'm am truthfully sorry for this, its just...not right somehow.

Anyhow, last chapter coming soon.


	7. Shuddering

* * *

Okay, this is the last chapter, and not at all what I expected. I'd like to thank everyone that stayed with me this long, especially Creeno, xXFreedom-ReaderXx, and MariapiaW, for their reviews.

LOTS of angst, and a little slash

Warnings: Wincest, spoilers (i guess, sort of), and writing thats just not as good as the usual stuff...

* * *

Okay, so Sam was psychic. Dean had always known his brother was different. Perhaps the psychic thing had been a major kick in the ass, but he could deal. He was sure he could deal. Anyway, this made things make more sense. The way sometimes Sam just _knew_ which road to take, the way he mourned for Jessica's death, the way he wasn't particularly worried about thier father.

Alright, the last one was probably _not _thanks to Sam's newly exposed ability, but Dean was able to pretend pretty well that it was.

Even so, even all the good that could come of this, Dean felt his stomach knot and churn as he turned and saw Sam's hand clench in his pillow, little ragged breaths whispering into the hothumidsleep air. He tried to push that worry out of his head as Sam whispered deep in his sleep, low and indistinguishable.

Dean sighed and moved, made his way from his place on his own twin bed into Sam's, hand moving in slow circles on his little brother's back in the light of the muted static on the television.

_This isn't a vision. This is just a bad dream. Pure and simple, a bad dream...yeah._

Dean pressed a little harder into the skin without even thinking about it until Sam suddenly caught his hand, eyes groggy as he moved into Dean's space and curled against his chest.

The movement made Dean's heart speed and he had to remind himself that all this was was one brother taking comfort from another. Sam's heart was fast against his and he ran a hand through Sam's hair unconsciously.

"Dean?" Dean pretended to be asleep, even though he knew that Sam was aware he hadn't slept in weeks, maybe months - he had been watching over Sam.

"It was just a bad dream. It wasn't...you know." Dean suppressed a smile at the words, an echo of his own thoughts, hopes, and barely registered Sam reaching for the remote and clicking the TV off, secluding them in darkness, before turning his head the other way and whispering, almost to himself. "Just a bad dream."

* * *

Sam woke up to see the other bed was empty. A sliver of light filtered in under the bathroom door and he could hear Dean retching.

_Good, serves him right. Let him be sick._

The words were still there, but they didn't mean anything anymore. Sam didn't mean them anymore, but they haunted him. They welled up and infected his guilty conscious, like blood in water.

He heard Dean retch again and then a choking sound, before all was silent, before he let himself fall into sleep.

--

When Sam came back to, Dean was still in the bathroom.

"Dean?" He called into the night, the clock flashing low red numbers at him. Silence responded, and Sam made himself sit up, pad across the room into the bright of the tile. "Dean?"

Dean was sprawled out on the cool tile, shuddering in big, heaping breaths.

"Dean!" Sam turned him over, tried to make him wake up. "Dean, oh God, man, you're burning up. Dean! Dean, open your eyes!" His hands moved frantically through Dean's hair, feeling his heart race.

"Okay, okay. Think Sam. Come on." He layed Dean back down and jogged from the room, pushing back the panic that welled up black in his throat. He went to the freezer and hauled the ice box into the bathroom, hoping this wasn't stupid. He ran the water, cold, and poured the ice in before turning back to Dean in the tiny cramped space. It sickened him to hoist his brother up, his skin sweat-slick and heated like that. It reminded him of the helpless little girl, and the analogy is so broken it made him shudder.

He lowered Dean down into the water held him down as Dean struggled against him, fought as Dean's palms collided with his chest, his face, soaking his white tee. Finally Dean calmed, his hands falling into the water.

Sam pulled the plug on the tub, thinking the bath wasn't really necessary, a product of his panic, and pulled Dean out, body dripping and cold. Dean was opening his eyes as Sam put him down, coughing.

"Sam. What the hell, man?" Sam laughed shakily and slid down onto the bed, wrapping his arm around his brother and taking one rough hand in his.

"I might have gotten a little freaked. I'm sorry. You just wouldn't wake up."

"I was awake. Just...not very." The room fell to silence.

"Dean?" Sam was so close to tears, remembering the feel of Dean's skin, still hot against his.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"Don't ever scare me like that again."

* * *

Their Dad. Their Dad had been there, they had been so close to being a family. Then that demon had come out of nowhere, and destroyed it. That sound, that high pitched noise, it buzzed on the back of Sam's brain. It stuck there, woke him up in the middle of the night.

And hearing those words out of Dean's mouth, hearing what he had said, those scared eyes. Nothing would make that go away. But Sam was coping. He didn't think Dean was.

Now, he was sure he wasn't.

He hauled Dean in from the rain, feeling the skin hot against his. Dean hadn't been better for three weeks and already he was doing something stupid.

"Come on. Sit down. Alright." Dean wasn't focusing, he was letting Sam steer him towards the bed. "What were you doing out there, huh?" Dean shrugged, looked at his boots as Sam pulled them off, like a father would to a son. Sam tugged at his jacket.

"Sammy..." Dean's voice was broken, and suddenly he was crying, tears streaming down his face. "I can't, I can't do it! I can't, I promised I would, but if...I can't kill you Sammy. How could he ask that of me? How could he do that? If..if things go bad, I'll follow you. I'd follow you into hell, Sammy. Sammy, Sammy, Sammy." He sounded drunk, but Sam didn't think he was.

"Dean?" Sam moved his hand to hook around Dean's neck, and suddenly Dean pushed him away, Sam's back hitting the dresser as Dean wiped his face dry. But Sam had already seen, there was no going back.

Dean could feel that hand return, heavy on his knee as it moved up, slow and careful as it found his hip, squeezed. "Sam?" Sam was kneeling, looking up at him, his eyes open and worried, uncertain as their mouths met, timid. Dean almost couldn't bear to tear himself away. "You don't want this anymore Sammy. You don't want me anymore." He let his forehead rest against Sam's, let them breath the same breath. Sam pushed off a little, like he might leave it like that, but then steadied himself.

"I...I was scared. I thought that loving you wouldn't work anymore, not when I already lost her. I'm not as smart as you. I still love you." The kiss was less timid this time, and Sam's other hand moved to Dean's jaw . Dean let Sam push him back, move between his legs as thier kiss deepened, shuddered as Sam's hand moved under his shirt, a hot coal against his clammy skin.

"I never should have blamed you, Dean."

His wet clothing peeled from his body like a second skin, and Dean knew he was being reborn. Life was always painful like this, as Sam pushed the jeans off of his ankles and worked kisses all the way up, his hand sliding up Dean's calf and pulling his knee up. His tongue slid over the jut of Dean's hip, slid briefly into his navel, lined his muscles. That mouth found Dean's again and Dean moaned against him, felt Sam burn his way into him, the press of his hand against him suddenly gone and replaced by all of Sam's want.

Dean had forgotten this feeling, the feeling of them moving as one. Sam looked scared and Dean rocked back, let him know this was okay. They were okay. They were together.

* * *

Three hours, thats what was left. Nothing mattered. All the time, all the hunts, the people they met. None of it was real. Since the day Dean had made his deal, none of it had been worth mentioning, none of it was important. They were important.

Sam was limp in his arms, bare and slick. He was shuddering, and Dean didn't think he could bare to see any more tears tonight. They were both falling apart, and it was strange. Dean didn't want his last moments with his brother to be tainted by sorrow.

"I didn't know...I am so sorry Dean." Sam's arms tightened around him, clamping their bodies together.

"What, Sammy, what are you talking about?" Sam buried his face into Dean's chest.

"You know...when you said you'd follow me to hell?" Dean froze. _No, no, no, nononononono._

"Sammy? Sammy, look at me!" Sam moved his head, stared at Dean with blank eyes. No, not blank. Black.

"I'm not letting them take you. I did what I had to do. You are staying right here, with me. We are fighting this together." Sam moved in on Dean.

Sometimes, Sammy kisses like fire.

* * *

That was honestly not what I had planned. It jumps around a lot, more than I had thought, but I just wanted to finish this story, in all honestly. I hope you guys liked it, it got away from me. I know the last chapter just arent as good as the beginning ones, but I had to force myself to write the last parts.


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